Chapter Text
It was spring when he left.
The sun was glowing softly as it rose lazily from its slumber, bathing the surrounding brick buildings in warm light and illuminating the two standing figures in burning golds and reds.
“Namjoon-ah…”
The retreating taller figure stopped, turned around. With a knowing smile he said, “Thank you, Hoseok-ssi. But I’ve been here long enough. It’s time for me to leave.”
“But— But where will you go? You don’t have a home!” Hoseok was starting to panic. When he had woken up that morning to find the guestroom empty he didn’t know what to think. He had gotten so used to seeing Namjoon sprawled across the small bed every morning for the past few weeks that not seeing the cat hybrid in his usual spot made his heart pound and his mind race with the possibilities.
“I’m going to journey until I discover myself,” he paused and looked off into the distance, his tail swaying low, “There is so much of this world to explore, so much to discover, and as a stray… I do not have the limitations and possessions that chain one down to a single place.” Namjoon took a deep breath, shoulders visibly lifting with the movement, and looked into the worried eyes of the man who had taken him in one cold day in December and showed him what it meant to be cared for. “As long as there are nice people like you in this world a stray can feel like it has a home, feel safe—even temporarily—and sometimes that’s all we really need.”
Hoseok felt tears stinging his eyes, mouth twisted as it struggled to form words, anything to make the cat hybrid stay.
“Don’t worry about me, Hoseok-ssi,” Namjoon’s smile rivaled the rising sun. He lifted his small backpack higher on his shoulders. “It’s spring, the most beautiful moment in life.” With one last lingering glance he turned away and walked briskly into the sunrise; Namjoon quickly disappeared from sight.
Hoseok stayed rooted to his back porch, confused, and sad, heart heavy for a few seconds until he heard, “Thank you! Fate will surely allow us to meet again,” carried back to him on the whisper of a breeze.
Namjoon sure was a wise cat.
//
Hoseok bent down and placed a bowl of white rice and a plate of fried fish on the little table he kept on his back porch, protected from the elements by a little overhang he created out of stiff cardboard and brightly colored duct tape. Standing back up he dusted off his jeans before grabbing his bag and running down the stairs and towards the bus stop.
It had been about three months since Namjoon left and while Hoseok still missed him dearly he now had a new hybrid to take care of. Well, not take care of as in giving a home and warm clothes and cuddles but more like—just giving food to.
One day at the end of spring Hoseok had sat on his porch—much like he always did the weeks following Namjoon’s departure—and was trying to finish his meal. He didn’t like eating at his kitchen table, the room feeling too large without the laughter and ramblings of the joyous hybrid, so had instead started the habit of taking his meals on the porch, thoughts distractedly pointed in the direction where Namjoon had taken his first steps towards his new life. This particular day Hoseok’s mind had been bogged down by one of the last things Namjoon had said to him. Were there really nice people in the world to care for Namjoon as he traveled the country? Was someone out there right now feeding him, clothing him, and scratching under his chin the way he liked? Questions like that and many more twirled through his mind—to the point that he stood up and went inside, seeking the quiet of his bedroom to calm himself and his growing worries. As the door closed behind him Hoseok missed the sight of the mostly full plate of food still placed on the edge of the steps.
The next day as he was leaving to go open his dance studio he nearly crashed into the stack of dishes that were placed neatly right in front of the backdoor. Startled, Hoseok skidded to a stop and looked down quizzically at the empty plates. He couldn’t remember much from the previous night but one thing he knew for certain was that he had went to bed without finishing his dinner—like he did every night—so the sight of the plates licked nearly clean was baffling. Picking the plates up and bringing them in the house he decided to worry about it after he got home from work.
Over the next week Hoseok continued to eat his dinner on the back porch, continued to not finish it completely, and the next morning he would be greeted by the sight of empty plates stacked neatly and waiting for him.
By the second week of these mysterious occurrences Hoseok unconsciously started cooking more food than he could eat, leaving overflowing bowls of rice and plates of meats and other side dishes on the porch while he got ready for bed.
By the third week he caught his mystery visitor. Hoseok had just gotten out of the shower and, too energized from a recent dance practice, had felt it was too soon to turn in for bed. He never knew when his visitor came to eat the food he had left (he hoped it was before it grew too cold) and since it was nearing midnight he decided to go check to see if the food was still there.
Turning out all the lights the curious man crept to the window in his living room facing the back yard. Lifting a slit in the blinds slowly with one finger he peered out into the darkness. At first he didn’t notice anything different; there was the garden, the recycling bin next to the trashcan, the water hose he’d left unraveled on the grass. Nothing seemed out of order—until he saw a flash of blonde fur, nearly white in the glow from the stars. Holding in a breath Hoseok watched as a hunched over form in the dark lifted hands to it’s mouth repeatedly in what he could only guess to be the cat hybrid eating. He watched as the minutes ticked by, the hybrid eating everything on the plate and scooping out the last of the rice from the bowl using it’s fingers. When the plates were licked with a long, pink tongue Hoseok saw the hybrid stand up and place the plate and bowls in a stack in the same place Hoseok found them each morning.
The hybrid turned to leave but not without Hoseok first seeing him bathed in the light of the moon. The male—for it was unmistakably a male hybrid that had been eating the meals Hoseok cooked—was short, with long and lanky arms and legs, tail just as thin and wiry. He was dressed in jeans ripped from wear and age, a shirt tucked into the waistband that Hoseok thought was yellow but could have been white or green at some point. His hair was too long, hanging into his eyes and uselessly tucked behind his ears. The blonde strands were matted to his forehead and he had leaves stuck into the nest that sat atop his head, most, if not all of his perked cat ears hidden in the mess and his human ones sitting lower on his face and covered in soot. He looked like he hadn’t had a bath in years, and proper consistent meals in just as long. He looked aged, burdened with a life Hoseok could only imagine.
Hoseok felt his heart tighten in his chest as the hybrid swiftly melted into the night.
By the fourth week Hoseok had taken to leaving not only dinner but also breakfast on the back steps.
A few days later Hoseok was peeping out of the blinds again when he saw the cat hybrid climb over his back fence. He landed silently on his feet before ducking down behind a bush. Moments later Hoseok could see him glancing all around cautiously before rushing from the bush to the back steps. Even after weeks of Hoseok purposely leaving him food the hybrid still looked like he was in the middle of high-level thievery instead of just collecting what was rightfully his (by Hoseok’s standards).
Halfway through his meal Hoseok made the rash decision to toe his slippers on and approach the backdoor. Taking a deep breath he turned the knob as quietly as possible before inching it open and peeking an eye out. The cat hybrid was still hunched over, seemingly unaware of Hoseok’s intrusion. He took this as a sign to open the door a little further and clear his throat.
There was the clatter of plates hitting the cement steps as the hybrid’s head snapped up to focus on Hoseok, eyes blown wide and a threatening snarl twisting the curve of his lips. Hoseok didn’t want to admit it but he felt a tingle of fear on the nape of his neck.
“H— Hey,” he started, but before he could utter another word he heard a piercing hiss then the sound of the hybrid fleeing into the night, back over the fence. Hoseok sighed deeply, forlornly, and then retreated back into his home.
The hybrid didn’t return the next day, or the day after, or the one after that, but that didn’t stop Hoseok from placing food out twice a day in hopes that he’d return. Hoseok found it harder and harder to finish his meals each day that passed without any sign of the cat hybrid. Every time he looked at food he wondered if the hybrid had eaten that day. Whenever he passed by his living room window he couldn’t fight the urge to peek through the blinds in the hopes of catching a movement, the sound of a meow, or even a peep of dull yellow fur.
By the fourth night he almost didn’t even let himself check out the window before bed—but something told him to do it anyways. Sighing, he tossed his wet towel into the hamper after his shower, threw on his robe and treaded into the living room unenthusiastically. He lifted the slit in the blinds without finesse and almost choked on a gasp because there, perched precariously right on the top step leading to his back porch was the hybrid. Hoseok let out a little squeak before letting go of the blind and staggering back away from the window. This was his chance, this time he would do this right.
He ran as quietly and as quickly as possible to his kitchen and restarted the stovetop to reheat the cooling kettle of boiling water that sat there from his before-bed cup of tea. He grabbed a mug, some energizing tea bags (he doubted it was in a stray’s best interest to be slow and drowsy while maneuvering the streets at night), and reached into the back of his cabinet for some shrimp chips. When the water was about to boil he pulled the kettle off before it could whistle loudly and prepared the large mug of tea. He grabbed a few napkins before collecting all the items and making his way over to the door.
Like last time he opened it a crack. The hybrid was halfway through his dinner but he kept stopping to twitch his cat ears and look over his shoulder. He was wearing the same clothes as last time, still shabby and in a state of disarray. Hoseok watched as he thought about the best way to go about this without startling the paranoid hybrid. In the end he decided to stick only his arm out of the small space between the door and the frame, presenting the steaming cup of tea, arm muscles burning as he waited for the cat hybrid’s nose to pick up the strong aroma.
The sounds of eating halted. Hoseok held his breath. Hours, days, years passed between the moment the cat hybrid noticed the suspended cup of tea and when he finally stopped fighting whatever inner argument he was having and gingerly took the cup from Hoseok, avoiding touching his fingers. Hoseok released his breath and slowly dropped his arm.
The hybrid moved back off the steps—Hoseok felt his heart sink—and then took five more steps into the yard before stopping. Hoseok watched him curiously as the hesitant cat stared him in the eyes, nose twitching as he sniffed the contents of the cup, tongue peeking out to taste the smallest drop. Another lick, another, and Hoseok sucked in a breath as he watched the hybrid transform. If Hoseok weren’t looking directly into his eyes he would have missed the way they slowly opened, stretching to show the whites of his eyes, pupils expanding in wonder. His nostrils flared to inhale as much of the addicting sweet smell as they could, his arms relaxing at the warmth spreading over his tongue and through his body. Hoseok’s lips lifted in a smile as he saw the hybrid let go of his paranoia and close his eyes to the possible threat of Hoseok’s presence, instead lifting the cup higher, taking huge gulps of the hot liquid greedily. When the cup was empty he let out the most contented sigh that had Hoseok’s heart soaring.
By week six Hoseok was eating his dinner on the porch with the cat hybrid, a hot pot of tea between the two of them—and he found he had the appetite to actually finish all on his plate.
It had been about three months since Namjoon left and while Hoseok still missed him dearly he now had a new hybrid to take care of. Well, not take care of as in giving a home and warm clothes and cuddles but more like just giving food to—but Hoseok would love for that to change.
It was summer now and Hoseok came home with two bags of shrimp chips he had grabbed at the convenient store on his way home and a scoop of strawberry ice cream—Yoongi’s favorite.
Reaching home he dropped off his bag and changed into more comfortable shoes then went out onto his back porch.
“Hey, Yoongi-ya.”
“’Sup?” came the hybrid’s usual greeting.
“I got you some snacks today.”
“You do every day,” Yoongi reached a hand out for the chips and ice cream, “What’s the difference between today and yesterday and the day before that?”
Hoseok cleared his throat, “Actually…”
Yoongi froze. He wasn’t actually expecting a difference between their usual (but still kind of new) routine. Were these snacks more significant? Were they goodbye treats? Was the human finally tired of giving handouts to a stray and was just letting him down easy?
Heart pounding, eyes adverted, Yoongi waited for him to continue.
“Actually,” Hoseok started again. Unbeknownst to him his heart was beating just as fast and in sync with the cat hybrid’s. “I bought these snacks today… um, as a way of saying…”
Yoongi knew it. He knew it was coming one of these days. He knew he should have never came back the first time the human caught him sneaking around his yard, looking for scraps. He should have taken what he could get and left. Having any type of connection, any type of friendly relationship—if that’s what this could be called—between a stray and a human was a mistake and it was stupid of Yoongi to even get any hopes up. All his life he was taught that if something went right for him then it was too good to be true. This wasn’t any different. Hoseok had been so sweet to him, nice and caring and never judgmental about Yoongi’s status as a stray, the way he smelled and dressed, never cared about how dirty he was when the human chose to sit so close that their knees brushed. Hoseok had never looked at him in revulsion, never hit him, threw things at him, yelled that he didn’t deserve to be fed—didn’t deserve to be treated as anything more than garbage strewn on the sides of the street. Yoongi prepared himself, steeled his heart against the next words out of Hoseok’s mouth.
“M-My way of saying— of asking really, if you would, um, mind…” Here it comes, Yoongi’s ears flattened against his head in a futile attempt to block out his voice. “Moving in with me? You know, becoming mine?”
What?
Yoongi couldn’t help repeating it aloud, “What?!”
“I know this is sudden, and you barely know me and I don’t know how you actually feel about me, or even if you like me—“
“I’m here for the food,” Yoongi interrupted, his heart feeling like it was about to burst from his chest. His mind was blanking out, mouth moving of its own accord, “Not you, don’t misunderstand.”
“O-Oh… Sorry then.”
No! Yoongi’s mind screamed. Why did you say that? “Because, you know, free food and all that. A stray’s gotta eat somewhere.” You could have a home!
“Yeah, sorry, you’re right. I didn’t mean to push you or make you uncomfortable, Yoongi-ssi.” Hoseok was pulling his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around him protectively. His voice no longer held the hesitant excitement it did a few seconds ago and the twinkle of mirth deep in his eyes that Yoongi had grown accustomed to seeing was fading quickly. “Forget I said anything, then.”
“Yeah, that would be for the best.” No, I didn’t mean that!
But looking down at his dripping ice cream, the cream tasting not as sweet, Yoongi knew it was too late to take it back.